


Dar’jahaala (Unwell)

by Bigorneaux



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: A lot of hyposprays, Din Djarin Removes the Helmet, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fever, Fever Dreams, Friends taking care of each other, Friendship, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Sorry, Isolation, M/M, My hand slipped and knocked over this trash can of whump, Quarantine, Recovery, Sick Fic, Spouses taking care of each other, Very Sick Character, Vomiting, Whump, and pukes, married fic, rating is for last chapter, smut at the end, to make it all better I guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:59:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27904855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bigorneaux/pseuds/Bigorneaux
Summary: He’d been sick before, but never like this. This was brutal, relentless. And on top of it, he felt small and alone. He missed home.Din picks up a viral infection during a supply run. He gets by with a little help from his friends and more hyposprays than he can count.
Relationships: Corin the Stormtrooper (Rescue and Regret)/Din Djarin, Paz Vizsla/Raga (Lady Irina)
Comments: 34
Kudos: 161





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Hidden and Revealed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23599798) by [LadyIrina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyIrina/pseuds/LadyIrina). 



> Please heed the warnings for this fic, especially given the current realities of the pandemic. This fic features a character who is very sick with a viral infection, has a whole slew of nasty symptoms, and has to isolate. The hurt comes with comfort (Din is married to Corin in this fic and has been for some time), but there's some fairly visceral descriptions of illness symptoms. The explicit rating will come into play in the last chapter. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, and as always, thank you to LadyIrina for letting us play with Corin and her other incredible characters!

In hindsight, Din could pinpoint the exact moment he realized he didn’t feel right; could remember the trickle of sweat that seemed out of place in the autumnal air on the market of Fulminar-5, the faint shivers that had begun to run up his spine and cause his face to flush. 

At the time, though, he’d been too preoccupied with securing his bounty to think much of it. If anything, he'd chalked up his sense of malaise to the general fatigue that always accompanied the monotonous travel of supply runs and the fact that he never seemed to sleep well alone anymore. He’d managed to convince Corin that this was a simple, low-risk run, and that it’d be just fine to stay back with the kid. While he missed them, he had been glad not to interrupt their routine. The kid had been making good progress socially and was doing well in his lessons with the other foundlings.

So, he hadn’t thought anything of it. He was tired. That was all. He’d continued through the market, found the side alley and basement entrance he’d been looking for, and tagged the bounty easily. It was a straightforward job: a low-level spice runner who’d jumped bail. Having come to the system with Paz and Raga anyway, he’d picked up the job partly as something to do while they haggled for goods on the other side of the planet and partly to help pay for the fuel they’d burned on the supply run. He’d spent an evening lurking in the shadows of the outpost’s scummy nightlife scene to eavesdrop for information, then located the spice runner the next day with minimal effort. He didn’t even have to kill anyone to take him in. Easy. 

Yet by the time he’d marched him to the Crest, Din was somewhat more aware that something was off. The trickle of sweat he’d felt an hour ago had begun to feel like a flood. The padding in his helmet stuck to him unpleasantly and he could feel steadily intensifying tremors in the hand that held his blaster to the spice runner’s back. The first wave of nausea had hit him as he walked up the ramp into the cargo hold and by the time his bounty was frozen in carbonite, it felt like it was taking all of his willpower not to vomit inside his helmet as a pulsating dizziness started to overwhelm him. 

He’d leaned against the wall and contacted Raga on the comm, despite the fact that she was just a door and a short ladder away in the cockpit. 

“Raga, I—” he’d gagged then and slid down the wall into a crouching position. He’d heard her stand up in alarm through the comm, and forced himself to power through. “Don’t feel so good. Don’t come down here. Probably contagious. Paz can pilot.”

And then he’d pulled his helmet off and crawled to the Crest’s small refresher. He’d known then that it would be a long, lonely ride home

* * *

Raga fidgeted in the copilot’s seat. It’d been hours since they’d taken off and would be hours more until they dropped out of hyperspace and got back to the Covert. Din was—well, Din had definitely been better. The last time she’d spoken to him on the comm, he’d been in rough shape. He’d said he’d felt like Bantha shit, mumbled something in a language she didn’t recognize, asked if skin was flammable (presumably because his felt like it was on fire), and then devolved into retching sounds peppered with interjections of, “I’m fine.” The hyposprays of painkillers didn’t seem to do much and despite the several doses of antipyretics she’d dug out of the medkit and left by the door, Din still had a raging fever. 

She and Paz were fairly certain it was Findris flu. Some digging on the Holonet revealed that there had been several outbreaks on Fulminar-5 in the past few years, including one that had only recently been contained (and apparently not very well) in the area Din had collected his bounty. Raga silently cursed herself for not checking this before travelling there. There was a vaccine for Findris flu, but it was uncommon in the Outer Rim. Neither she nor Paz were inoculated, and obviously neither was Din. Nor the rest of the Covert for that matter. It was a nasty illness, but wasn't usually fatal for healthy adults with treatment, though its after effects could linger for months. But it was dangerous for young children to contract, often killing unvaccinated kids, which is what had kept Raga out of the cargo hold. She very much wanted to have Din put his helmet on long enough for her or Paz to check him over and offer some comfort, but if they were infected too, it increased the risk to Covert. Plus, the illness onset was swift and at least one of them had to stay well enough to pilot home. 

So her, Din and Paz had decided that Din would isolate in the cargo hold unless it became a dire emergency. Corin, as a former Stormtrooper, was almost certainly vaccinated, and would be able to help him once they got back. Din, of course, had insisted that he’d been sick many times before and would be just fine in a few days. He’d hole up in the Crest to sleep it off and Corin could just stay in the Covert with the kid. Raga had rolled her eyes at that, but kept her acerbic reply to herself. Better to stay positive and keep Din’s spirits up. 

Raga huffed and got up. There was no sense dwelling on it. “I’m going to check on our _di’kut_ ,” she announced brusquely, trying to hide her worry. “He’s been quiet for too long.” 

Paz nodded and then caught her arm, turning to her. “He’ll be alright, _cyare_. He’s tough.” 

Raga smiled under her helmet. “I know, Paz. But he’s also a stubborn ass. He’ll pretend he’s fine right up until he dies of dehydration.”

* * *

Every cell in Din’s body felt like it was floating away. His skin was red hot and itchy, and somehow both heavy, like wet wool, and light, as if it was evaporating off him like steam. He kept expecting to look down at his arms and see only smooth white bone under his beskar vambraces. He had already vomited to the point that all that was left to bring up was bile, so he’d been forcing himself to keep drinking water just so he had something in his stomach to puke out. If some of it managed to get through and hydrate him, well then, that was a nice bonus. 

He’d alternated between freezing cold and boiling hot more times than he could count, but he’d left his armor on. He’d tried, futilely, to remove some of it during the last incandescent wave of fever that had washed over him, but his hands had been too sweaty and too shaky. 

Now, he just lay weakly on the mattress pad he’d pulled over from the sleeping cot and arranged next to the door so he wouldn’t have to get up when Raga next came to drop off hyposprays, water, and electrolyte solution. The bucket he’d pulled over at the same time was rusty, but ought to do the trick, even if he hoped he wouldn’t need it. 

He was curled on his side in a pool of sweat with his eyes squeezed shut, determined to hang on to reality as the torment of fever dreams licked at his frayed consciousness. The soothing sound of his mother’s voice filtered in on an imagined breeze to cool his flaming skin, only to end abruptly with the terrifying clang of metal doors separating him from her forever. Moments later, Corin sat next to him, softly singing the Mando’a lullabies Din had taught him for their _adi’ka_ , but when Din reached a hand out to touch him, Corin curled away into smoke and Din’s hand came away covered in blood. Panicked, Din pressed his bloodied hand to his face, desperate to keep some part of Corin with him, and felt his _riduur_ ’s blood trickle into his eyes. He started to weep before realizing that there was no blood, only his own sweat, and that Corin was lightyears away, perfectly safe at Covert. 

Another wave of nausea tore through him and he pushed up on his elbows to hang his head over the bucket and heave out his last gulps of water. He’d been sick before, but never like this. This was brutal, relentless. And on top of it, he felt small and alone. He missed home. He craved Corin’s steadying presence and wanted nothing more than to pull him and their _ad’ika_ close and sleep this off. But here he was, alone in the cargo hold of the Crest, puking his guts up. 

He rolled back onto the mattress and drifted between waking and sleeping for a period of time that could have been seconds or could have been days. He had no idea anymore. He remembered a beach from a planet he’d been on with Corin and the kid but could not remember the name of. It had been rocky and windy and grey. The spray from the water had been freezing. He’d been annoyed by it at the time but now he was sinking blessedly into that cold, cold water, his beskar pinning him to the surf-rounded stones at the bottom as the waves crashed mindlessly above him. 

“Din?” 

He jumped as the sound of his name pulled him back to the surface, choking and spluttering on the hallucinated sensation of ocean water flooding his lungs. _Raga, it’s Raga_ , he realized. _Why is she here?_ She’d never been with them on this planet. 

“Are you okay?” Din croaked out. “How did you get here?” 

A short laugh came through the door, followed by a soft, “Oh Din.” 

Slowly, Din realized that the beach he’d been at seconds previous was gone, faded into nothing. He was in the cargo hold of the Crest. He was sick. Findris flu. Right. 

“Sorry, Raga,” he rasped, voice hoarse, “Sorry, I’m okay. We’re on the Crest.” 

“Yeah, buddy,” came the murmur through the door, “Yeah, we’re on the Crest. You’re pretty sick.” 

“Yeah.” 

“I have a few more hypos here for you.” 

“Okay.”

“I’ll leave them by the door.” 

“Sure.” 

Din heard a clink on the floor, then, “All there, along with another canteen of water. You keeping anything down?” 

“Some.” 

“Okay.” Raga seemed to sigh the word out. 

“Hey, Rags?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Will you come back in a minute, after I take the hypos?” 

“Yeah, Din, of course.” 

At that, Din closed his eyes again. He hated this. Hated needing to ask for help, but his trips into delirium were starting to unnerve him. He just needed someone close. Needed to not be alone. 

“Thanks,” he said weakly, meaning it more than he’d care to admit. 

* * *

Raga retreated back to the cockpit long enough to let Paz know where she'd be for the next little bit. And long enough to sneak a bear hug from him. Maybe more for the bear hug, really, since there were only so many places on the Crest she could possibly end up. They were both worried. Findris flu could get pretty serious. And hearing Din—their tough, pig-headed Din—sound so confused and so vulnerable had shaken her. No one but Paz had dared to call her by that old nickname since they were kids. For Din to do so, not as a taunt, but as a plaintive, hesitant ask had made her chest clench painfully. It brought her back to nights spent bunking together as younglings, to pulling little, shaking Din in against her chest in the wake of a nightmare, to stroking his damp, messy mop of hair until his breathing evened and he fell back asleep. 

“How far out are we?” she asked. 

“Little over two hours," Paz replied. “I’ll comm Corin when we're about an hour out from the Covert. Give him enough time to gather the supplies he’ll need, but not enough time to make himself sick with worry. One puker’s enough. I’ll also comm Barthor to babysit the kid and get us a spot to isolate for the 72 hour incubation period, just in case.” 

Raga smiled under her helmet. As with all things, they’d handle this together. A team. She leaned down and knocked her helmet against his in a quick _kov’nyn_. “Thanks, _cyare_.” 

Back at the door, Raga settled down, back against the wall, to the sound of Din heaving and the unmistakable noise of water splashing into a bucket. She winced. Hopefully, some of the electrolyte mix in that last canteen of water had made it into Din’s system. 

Soon, the retching stopped and the sounds of Din flopping back onto the mattress filtered through the door, his beskar clanging as it bumped into the other side of the wall that separated them. 

“I’m back,” she said softly, letting him know he wasn’t alone. 

The reply that came through the door was garbled through chattering teeth and in that same language she’d heard on the comm a few hours previous. Raga couldn’t recognize or understand it, but she was willing to bet it was the dialect spoken on Aq Vetina, the settlement he’d been born in and later rescued from. Which meant that although Din was just on the other side of the wall, he was also far, far away. Raga frowned. 

“It’s Raga, Din,” she reassured, “You’re on the Crest. You’re safe.” 

The rambling continued and steadily became more distressed, eventually accompanied by the sound of Din’s hand pawing numbly at the door. 

Raga swallowed back the anxiety that rose in her at that. “Din, hey Din,” she said, carefully modulating the tremor out of her voice, “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay. _Mhi bat_ Razor Crest. _Mhi ven’yaim nusujii_. Corin _ven’ogir_. _Kaysh ven’gaa'tayl gar_.” 

Silence settled and the pawing ceased. 

“Rags?”

“Yeah, _vod’ika_.” 

“Don’t let them hurt Corin and the kid.” 

Raga flinched at that. “Who?” 

“The droids.” 

Raga sighed. Wherever Din was now, reality was long gone. Raga clenched and unclenched her hands. She turned and settled down cross-legged to face the door, training her helmet’s HUD on Din’s vitals. For the next two hours, she’d monitor him and do her best to keep him from descending too far into fever dreams. It was all she could do. 

“We got you, Din,” she replied. “We’ll keep Corin and the _ad’ika_ safe and I’ll be right here with you. You may be in isolation, but you’re not alone.” 

“ _Ori’haat_?” 

“ _Ori’haat_ ,” she confirmed. _I promise_. 

And then Raga leaned forward, pressed her helmeted forehead against the door, and sang every Mando’a lullaby she could remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TRANSLATION NOTES**
> 
> I try my best to get any snippets of Mando’a right by cobbling together a few different translation tools, but no guarantees! Do let me know if you see something glaring!
> 
>  _Dar’jahaala_  
>  Unwell - literally, no longer healthy 
> 
> _Mhi bat Razor Crest. Mhi ven’yaim nusujii. Corin ven’ogir. Kaysh ven’gaa'tayl gar._  
>  We [are] on the Razor Crest. We’ll [be] home soon. Corin will [be] there. He will help you. 
> 
> _Vod’ika_  
>  Little sibling/brother
> 
>  _Ori’haat_  
>  I swear/I promise
> 
>  **Other sundries:**  
>  _Di’kut_ =idiot; _cyare_ =beloved; _riduur_ =spouse; _ad’ika_ =child/baby; _kov’nyn_ =Mandalorian-style forehead kiss
> 
> **Thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who read, enjoyed, left kudos, commented, etc., on Chapter 1! Very appreciated and very glad folks are enjoying this humble offering to LadyIrina's amazing Mandorin 'verse! Here's Chapter 2, featuring more whump, but some hope and healing, too. I am currently working on the last portion of this fic, which will be the feel-good comfort part. I do want to give a heads up that the fic might be extended to 4 chapters, just depending on the pacing of the last part. Cheers and thanks again!

Corin was reading, his snoozing _ad’ika_ curled up in the crook of his arm, when Bathor banged on the door of his and Din’s quarters. The moment he heard the sound, his heart was in his throat. He was always on edge when Din was away without him and the fierceness of the knock left no room for doubt. This was bad luck arriving at his doorstep. 

“Corin, open up. It’s Barthor. It’s important.” Barthor’s voice was calm but commanding. 

The kid woke up with an apprehensive whine and Corin pulled him onto his hip to cross the short distance and yank the door open. 

“What’s wrong?” he blurted, no thought given to politesse. 

Barthor reached his hand out, grasping Corin’s unarmored shoulder. “First, everything’s okay. Or will be. Din is fine.” 

After a couple years of being married to Din and living at the Covert, Corin knew better than to relax at that. The Mandalorian definition of “fine” was a little different from everyone else’s… 

“Second, I need you to come with me to the comm room. Paz wants to talk with you.” 

Corin swallowed hard. The fact that this message hadn’t just been passed through to the comm link in their quarters filled him with dread. 

“What’s going o—” 

“Din’s sick. He’ll be fine, but it’s rough. Come on. Paz will explain.” 

With that, Barthor gently took Corin’s elbow and pulled him through the doorway. 

* * *

It was cold, so cold. The wind whipped at his cape and whistled up under his helmet. His teeth chattered. The snow was shifting, obscuring the trail of blood he was trying so desperately to follow. There had been a voice at one point, soft, melodic, leading him through the darkness, but it was gone now and he was completely alone. 

He dropped to his knees in a feeble attempt to get out of the wind and pawed at the snow. Where was the trail? Frantic, he started digging. The droplets of blood he’d been using to track Corin and the _ad’ika_ had to be here. He needed to find them and follow them. 

He dug until the snow began to redden, blood filling the pit he’d made like water seeping into a hole dug along a sandy shore. He jumped back, startled, and then snow gave way and he tumbled into a cavern below. 

He blinked and there was Corin, lying next to him. He was covered in blood and the _ad’ika_ , who was strapped to him in a sling, was out cold. 

He cursed, scrabbling to his knees to check Corin and then gripping him under his armpits to pull them to safety. His body was awash in pain, his skin a constellation of bright, icy pinpricks. 

He jumped suddenly at the sound of banging above him. The roof of the snow cavern was gone, replaced by metal doors. The whirring of a battle droid came through clearly, interspersed with screams and explosions. The door started to open. He had to get Corin and the kid to safety. 

He looked down. They were gone. 

Had they ever been there? He opened and closed his eyes. 

On the snowy ground was the red-robed form of his father, his gentle face slack and bloodied. Din blinked and the form shifted to the familiar shape of Davarax. He blinked again and was alone. 

He sank to his knees and wept. 

* * *

“ _Dank farrik_ ,” Corin spat out the moment he was in the belly of the Razor Crest. Raga and Paz, who’d come out of the escape pod hatch on the top of the Crest to avoid passing through the quarantined area of the ship, had warned him it was bad. Even so, the scene before him crushed the air out of his lungs. 

Din’s form was huddled in the fetal position near the cargo door. His helmet was off and rested about a foot above his head. Several empty hypospray canisters were littered around it. His hair was plastered to the pallid skin of his sweaty, twitching face. His eyes were shut and he was muttering incoherently through chattering teeth.

Corin sucked in a steadying breath and immediately regretted it. The room reeked of vomit and Corin noticed the rusty bucket that sat about an arm’s length from Din. He steeled himself and closed the distance between him and his _riduur_ , pushing the bucket to the side with a foot and setting down the kitbag of supplies he’d been equipped with by the Covert’s medics. He’d spent the last hour finding out everything he could about Findris flu, grilling the medics and scouring the Holonet. He had hypos of heavy duty antipyretics, nutrient and electrolyte solutions, antinauseants, sleep-inducers and more. In addition to this, he had long-lasting cold packs and several days worth of fluid drips. And he could comm the medics directly with any questions he had. The key was to stop the vomiting and break the fever. Findris was only sometimes fatal in adults, but when it was, it was generally from complications of dehydration. Raga had done the right thing by trying to keep Din hydrated, but the simple fever meds and oral hydration mixes in the Crest’s medkit could only do so much. 

Corin reached out and touched the back of his hand to his beloved’s burning forehead, swallowing back the lump in his throat and blinking away the tears that pricked his eyes. Din moaned and shifted, but did not open his eyes. Corin wished he could just magically soothe away this hurt, that he had powers like their little _ad’ika_ did. He’d wondered if this was something the kid could heal. Maybe it was. But that was too risky. There was a reasonable chance the kid was vaccinated for Findris, but an equally as reasonable chance he wasn’t. Vaccines weren’t always equally effective across species. And if anything happened to the _ad’ika_ , neither he nor Din would ever forgive themselves. 

So this was what they had. Corin’s hands and the best meds they could muster at the Covert. Corin pushed down the wave of guilt that washed over him and ignored the voice that tried to blame him for this, that taunted him that he should have never let Din go on the supply run without him. He ran his fingers down Din’s cheek and, unsure of how lucid Din was, started to speak. 

“Hey, _cyar’ika._ ” Din let out a pained sound. “Hey, shhh. It’s me. It’s Corin. You’re home. You’re really sick though so we’re gonna stay on the Crest until you’re better. I have some stuff here to help you out. I need to give you some hypos and I’m going to hook you up to a fluid drip.” 

Din opened his eyes and looked at Corin, but didn’t seem to see him. His head lolled back and he murmured in a language that Corin recognized from the lullabies Din sometimes sang to him on nightmare-filled nights. His birth language. Corin felt sick. Wherever Din was in his fever dreams, it likely wasn’t pleasant. 

He made it through three hypos before Din came roaring back into some form consciousness, shouting and flailing and kicking himself back against the wall, beskar ringing sharply. One hand came up to shield his face and the other scrabbled for his blaster. 

“Woah, woah,” Corin breathed out as he dropped the empty hypospray and firmly but gently clasped the arm reaching for the blaster. “Easy there, _cyare_. Easy. It’s me. Look, Din. Look at me.” He crouched in front of Din and used his other hand to ease down the arm Din had flung up in front of his naked face. 

Finally, blessedly, recognition flickered in Din’s eyes. “Corin?” 

Corin winced internally at how raw Din’s voice was, but schooled his features into a stoic calm and nodded reassuringly. “Yes, _cyare_. It’s me.” 

Relief seemed to flood Din, who fell forward onto Corin, hugging him with shaking shoulders and trembling arms. 

“Corin, stars, you’re really here. I was alone and you were…you were…but now you’re...” 

“I know, I know,” Corin agreed, rubbing Din’s back. He didn’t know but he could imagine the shape of Din’s fevered hallucinations. “It’s not real though. You’re sick. You’re really sick. But you’re home now. You’re not alone and you’re gonna get better. It’ll be okay soon.” Corin pulled back, locking Din’s gaze as he eased him back down onto the mattress. 

Maybe it was the rapid acting hypos or maybe it was just good luck making a much needed appearance—Corin hardly cared—but Din seemed lucid enough to understand. 

“Findris,” he croaked. 

“Yeah, _cyare_.” 

“Don’t take me to the Covert.” 

“I know. I won’t. Paz and Raga are isolating, too, just in case. But they’re not sick. Everyone’s safe. Barthor’s got the _ad’ika_.” 

This seemed to satisfy Din, who relaxed fully back into the mattress. 

“I’m going to give you a lot of drugs, okay. You might feel weird at first—”

“Can’t be worse than how I feel now.” 

Corin smiled. If Din could spit back a reply like that, things would be okay. “Yeah, Din. It won’t be. But there’s a few more hypos to go and I’m going to put this into your hand for fluids.” Corin held up the drip lines. “And I need to take off your armor, okay?” 

Corin waited for Din’s nod and then began the process. 

* * *

Time stretched and contracted bizarrely over the next hours of Din’s life. He spent eternities in the twisted tangle of nightmares only to be pulled out of them by hands that combed steadily through his hair and then disappeared, flaking into ash around his burning face. 

At one point, he spoke to Corin for what felt like days, rambling on and on hoarsely about a fight he’d picked with Paz when he was sixteen while also asking repeatedly whether or not the _adi’ka_ was safe each time he remembered he wasn’t a kid anymore but a married man with an _aliit_ to worry about. He’d only stopped when Corin administered a hypo that made his mouth feel cottony and the edges of his world slowly blacken into sleep. 

After that, he’d floated, alone, in nothingness for a long time. A black, inky nothingness that buoyed him coldly on its undulating expanse. 

He’d come out of that to Corin’s voice singing his mother’s lullabies to him, and the ache he felt when he realized that Corin remembered Din singing them to him on difficult nights seemed to come alive and trickle out of his chest like goo. 

He shook and shivered and sweated. He alternated between trying to rip off the cold packs Corin had put on him in a desperate bid to finally feel warm again and wanting to mash them as far as possible into his smouldering flesh.

But through this all there were the hands. They came and went, dusting into nothing and then rematerializing from nowhere, but they always, always came back. They soothed over his forehead and brushed along his shoulders. They held him over the bucket as he gagged and choked. They wiped away the tears that leaked from his eyes and ran wonderfully cool cloths over his naked chest. 

The hands, Corin’s hands, were his anchor: the tether to reality he reached out for again and again. They reminded him that he wasn’t alone. And slowly, steadily, the time Din was able to hold onto that tether stretched longer and longer.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to everyone who has read, left kudos, commented, etc. Very appreciated! ♥ This chapter features little a comfort, as a treat, ahah, and the last chapter is currently about half-written. Thanks for sticking with this! Translations and a headcanon note are in the End Notes.

It had taken a little over two cycles for Din’s fever to fully break. It was another three cycles after that before his blood samples came back negative for active infection, and yet another since Corin, Raga and Paz had moved him, heavily sedated to facilitate his recovery, back to their quarters in the Covert. 

Last night, the medics had advised Corin that Din’s body had recovered to the point that he could stop being sedated, though it would likely take most of another cycle before he came out of the induced coma and that he’d probably be very disoriented when he did. 

This morning, after a visit with the _ad’ika_ , who was still mostly being cared for by Barthor while Din recovered, Corin settled in to wait. He thanked Raga and Paz, who’d stayed with Din during his absence, and slipped Din’s helmet back off his head. Then he curled up cross-legged in his favourite chair, which he had pulled over next to the head of the bed. 

He just watched Din for a long time. He looked better, so much better. Corin had cleaned him up as best he could with damp cloths and dressed him in clean sleep clothes each night, so his skin was free from the grime of sweat and fever. Barring the dark circles that still lingered under his eyes, Din’s skin had almost returned to its usual golden colour. His face was peaceful, the contortions of nightmares now long gone. 

They were finally out of the woods and Corin, though outwardly calm, felt like he could scream and cry and roll on the floor with sheer relief. It had been brutal to watch his _riduur_ —the battle-hardened, stoic man who’d saved Corin more times than he’d ever deserved—reduced to a helpless, vulnerable wreck. But more than anything, Corin was relieved to have been there through it, to give his hands as the anchor in the storm of Din’s dreams, to offer his voice as the beacon of light that led him home again and again. To be able to do something, anything to help. 

Din’s chest rose and fell with deep even breaths and Corin sat humbly with the warm stab of gratitude the simple movement lodged in his chest. He reached out a hand and brushed a stray curl from Din’s forehead, then trailed his fingers down the sleeve of Din’s thin sleep shirt until they met the bare skin of his wrist. 

Corin huffed a warm sigh, thinking back to his first time touching that wrist, his marvel at the warm, human skin he’d found there. Later, when his lips had pressed against the feral, rapid pulse under that skin, he’d told himself the touch was transactional, to win an argument. He hadn’t realized in that moment that it was really a promise: a promise that where Din went, he wanted to follow—a promise he still kept. 

They’d been through so much since then, each experience threading them together more and more intricately. And this one was no different. They protected one another ruthlessly, relentlessly, but they were also each other’s soft place to fall. Din entrusted more of himself to Corin than to anyone else in the galaxy and Corin had done likewise. To care for someone as fierce as Din at his weakest was a privilege Corin sometimes still struggled to believe he deserved but guarded dearly. 

He smiled wanly and pulled Din’s hand into his lap, turning it over and cupping the back of Din’s hand in his palm. He traced gentle fingers along the veins visible under the smooth, translucent skin on the underside of his wrist, letting the steady echo of Din’s pulse in his fingertips ground him. They were okay. Din was okay. He was getting better. Corin leaned down and pressed his lips to his _riduur_ ’s wrist in a familiar, lingering kiss. When he pulled back, he enclosed Din’s hand between both of his, then leaned the side of his face against the soft fabric of the chair and closed his eyes. 

Time passed unobtrusively like that for many hours, Corin holding Din’s hand and drifting between waking and sleeping, exhausted from the patchy bouts of sleep he’d been surviving on. After a bit, he woke up enough to comm Barthor and speak to the _ad’ika_ , who babbled and cooed in return. The kid had been distressed and fretful when Din had first made it back to the Covert, but his spirits had lifted a bit in the past two days—another sign that the worst was behind them. Yesterday, the little one had spent several hours curled up next to Din and while Corin thought briefly about going to get him now, he wasn’t entirely sure how things would go when Din awoke. He didn’t want to stress the child unnecessarily. 

It wasn’t until early evening that the vitals monitor chirped, announcing changes in Din’s blood pressure and breathing that indicated he was waking up. Despite it being exactly what he’d been waiting for, Corin still jumped at the sound, sitting up with a start and immediately on high alert. Anxiety rose in his chest. He wasn’t sure what shape Din would be in mentally when he woke or how much he’d remember from the past days. The fever-induced hallucinations had clearly been agonizing and visceral, and Corin knew that a great deal of trauma had been dredged up and replayed in Din’s mind during the cycles he’d spent in delirium. And he had no idea what state of awareness, if any, Din had experienced while heavily sedated. 

Corin pulled in a deep, sharp breath and tamped down his nerves. He was determined to make this process as gentle as possible for Din. Casting a glance to the bedside table, he confirmed for his own peace of mind that the thermal canteens of water and tea he’d set there earlier were still at the ready. Then he shifted from the chair to the edge of the bed. He kept one hand around Din’s and ran the other up and down his side to soothe and calm. 

Soon, Din’s eyelids fluttered and his lips parted around a hoarse, groaning exhale. 

“Hey, _cyare_ ,” Corin kept his voice quiet and even, offering it as a guide to Din as he re-entered the world. “Hey, you’re okay.”

Din opened and closed eyes a few times, not yet seeming to register anything around him. Then, despite Corin’s gentleness, he started, his body twitching under Corin’s hands as consciousness abruptly arrived. His breathing quickened to a pant and his eyes blinked and searched wildly. Off guard and bewildered, he tried to bolt up, but Corin was ready for this. He pushed Din back onto the pillows with a firm hand on one shoulder while his other anchored Din’s face, meeting the man’s confused gaze with a steady one of his own. He spoke slowly and serenely in the Mando’a he’d practiced with Paz the day before. 

“ _An cuy jate, ner kar’ta. Mhi sha te Covert. Gar ru dar’jahaala. Gar morut'yc jii_.” 

Recognition flickered in Din’s eyes and he deflated a bit. 

“Cor—” Din tried to speak but faltered, his voice rusted with disuse and his throat still recovering from being stripped raw by bile. He coughed and winced. 

“Shhh. _K’uur_. It’s okay. Don’t speak yet.” Corin grabbed one of the canteens from the table and poured tea into a metal cup. It was herbal, made with a root designed to provide relief for inflammation and sore throats. He quickly dipped a finger in to check the temperature of the liquid, making sure it was warm but not hot. Satisfied, he helped Din sit up gradually and carefully, then wrapped Din’s hand around the cup and said, “Here, this will help. It’s tea. For your throat.” 

Din studied him for a moment, looking as though he was trying to piece together whether or not this was reality, and then drank. He was tentative at first, taking small sips as Corin helped him steady the cup in his hand. Then he seemed to realize how viciously thirsty he was and brought his other hand up to tip the cup further forward and gulp. 

Corin let him finish the liquid in the small cup, but decided it was best not to offer more yet. Din hadn’t had anything in his stomach for days and any more than that wasn’t likely to stay down. He eased the container out of Din’s hands and placed it back onto the table. Silence stretched between the two of them for a bit. Din seemed to be running over whatever he could remember in his mind, his brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of the situation with the same calculating precision that made him an effective bounty hunter. Corin waited patiently, his hand idly soothing over Din’s thigh. 

After a time, he heard Din’s throat working to swallow several times. Then, voice small and rough, he spoke. 

“How long?” 

Corin met Din’s gaze. “It’s been a little over six cycles since you’ve been planetside.” 

Din’s breath left his mouth in a whistling exhale. “ _Osi'kyr_...six cycles? That’s…” He trailed off, nodding dumbly as he tried to wrap his mind around the information. 

Corin squeezed his hand. “How are you feeling?"

“Mmm, like I’ve been forced to hang out with a bunch of Jawas while being digested in a Sarlacc pit?” 

Corin barked out a laugh, feeling like his heart might explode. Stars, there was Din, his Din. Corin had been right with him, yet he’d missed him so much it hurt. Din laughed too, voice gravelly, but his lopsided smile shining through the exhausted pallor of his face. Corin reached out to hold that face in his hands, suddenly feeling completely overcome, laughter threatening to swing into tears. He pressed his forehead to Din’s and sucked in a shaky breath, a fervent silence settling between them as that simple touch communicated all the emotions neither of them could yet voice. 

Din hummed warmly and dropped his head to Corin’s shoulder, collapsing into him. After long moments, he spoke, lips brushing against Corin’s neck. 

“You were—” His voice caught a little in the barbs of his ragged throat. “You were here for it all, weren’t you, _cyar’ika_?” 

The simple, grateful humility with which Din asked the question made Corin feel suddenly shy. He was quiet, swallowing back the lump in his throat. When Din pulled back and searched his face, thumb stroking his cheek, he dipped his head, though he could feel Din’s gaze on him like the first warm touch of sunlight on morning snow. He nodded faintly and then forced himself to meet Din’s gaze. “Yeah, _cyare_ , I’ve been with you since the Crest landed.” 

“You must be exhausted.” 

And that? That was Din right there. Corin closed his eyes briefly as the intensity of his fondness for his husband overwhelmed him yet again. Only Din could go through absolute hell and have his first concern be the exhaustion of someone else. 

“I’m just glad you’re okay, _ner kar’ta_. Really, really glad.” 

And then he took Din’s beautiful, weary face in his hands and kissed him. 

* * *

Din spent the rest of the evening moving gently in and out consciousness, drifting peacefully and easily between the two. It was a wonderful, welcome contrast to the way he’d been ripped back and forth between reality and delirium just days ago. This was a lilting, fluid rest, his exhausted body and mind floating warmly in the safe embrace of dreamless sleep and then waking serenely into the solid, steady circle of Corin’s arms. Barthor had brought their _ad’ika_ over shortly after Din had woken up, and the little one had burrowed immediately into Din’s arms, cooing contentedly. In his fever dreams, Din had lost Corin and the kid again and again, had lived through his darkest fears on endless repeat. His illness had left him not only physically drained, but emotionally ragged, and having the two of them close was a much needed balm. Eventually, Din gave in to sleep completely, his bed warm, his little _aliit_ safe and together, and his body healing.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TRANSLATION NOTES - PART THREE**
> 
> I try my best to get any snippets of Mando’a right by cobbling together a few different translation tools, but no guarantees! Do let me know if you see something glaring!
> 
>  _An cuy jate, ner kar’ta. Mhi sha te Covert. Gar ru dar’jahaala. Gar morut'yc jii._  
>  All is well, my heart. We [are] at the Covert. You were sick. You’re okay/safe now. 
> 
> _K’uur_  
>  Hush
> 
>  _Osi'kyr_  
>  An exclamation of surprise or dismay. Comparable to “Oh shit!”
> 
>  _Aliit_  
>  Family 
> 
>   
> **Headcanon Note**  
>  Din does have his helmet off in this in front of the kid. I'm basing this on the same headcanon from [Suum Ca'nara](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27762463). Basically, it occurs in a possible future where Din and Corin have been married for some time and they have officially adopted the child in the Mandalorian fashion (which they waited a while to do out of respect for the fact that the child may have wanted to return to his own people, as Din was originally quested in the show). It also assumes that helmets can be removed in front of very young immediate family members. My headcanon is that the Tribe would allow this to facilitate a child’s early development, like language-learning, and that helmets can be removed in this fashion until a child begins to speak in full sentences. All right, thanks for coming to my Ted Talk. 😅


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here we are folks. This chapter contains explicit, consensual sexual content, as indicated in the tags, so please be aware that it is NSFW. It's the well-earned love and comfort after the whump of the first few chapters! Thanks to everyone who followed along with this fic and thank you, always, to LadyIrina for Corin, the Mandorin 'verse, and for being so open to others writing about her characters. ♥

Din was still sound asleep when Corin woke the next morning to get their _ad’ika_ ready to go with the foundlings for the day. Normally, the kid was a boundless ball of energy as soon as he sensed the planet’s sun rising, but today even he seemed to be mindful of his father’s need for rest. He was nestled under his favourite fuzzy blanket on top of Din’s chest, a little claw fisted into the grey linen of Din’s sleep shirt and his head turned toward Corin. Awake but serene, he blinked slowly at Corin who reached out to affectionately tug on one of his big, floppy ears. The other ear was pressed to Din’s chest, and Corin wondered if he was listening to his father’s heartbeat, seeking confirmation that he was safe and getting better.

Corin shifted out from under the covers carefully so as not to wake Din, and then lifted the little green bean, blanket and all, off of him. Once in his arms, the kid whined softly, burrowing into his other father for comfort and reassurance. Corin rubbed his back and kissed his head. The kid had been less restless since Din had been back in the Covert, but he was obviously still affected by the ordeal. Given his powers, it was likely that even while Corin and Din had been outside the compound on the Razor Crest, the little one had sensed the distress of his parents. It must have been frustrating to feel that and be powerless to help. Seeming to confirm this, a soft coo pulled Corin from his thoughts. 

“I know, little buddy,” he whispered. “It’s been a long few days. But Dada’s getting better. We have to be very quiet though so that he can rest.”

A little chirp and big, knowing eyes reflected back the kid’s understanding, and Corin started to move them through their morning tasks. He puttered around their small quarters, quietly completing the familiar routine. Relishing it, actually, since it was a pattern that had been abandoned over the course of Din’s illness, one he only now had time to realize he’d missed.

By the time Corin had bathed and dressed the kid, fed him breakfast, and showered himself, Din was awake, his groan as he sat up in bed alerting Corin to the fact. He quickly finished dressing the _ad’ika_ , who had also realized his _buir_ was awake and was babbling with excitement. Grabbing the canteen of tea he’d prepared and a canister of liquid nutrient mix, he crossed the room, settling down on the edge of the bed.

“ _Jate vaar'tuur_ , _cyare_ ,” he said, smiling fondly at Din. “How’re you feeling?”

Din blinked sleepily and then replied, “Honestly? Lightyears better than I did a week ago.”

Corin’s heart gave a warm, cautious clench. “But you still aren’t completely better,” he warned. “And I know you, and I know you are going to push yourself to go back to normal too soon.”

Din rolled his eyes, but stretched an arm out to reach for Corin’s face, rubbing his thumb along his cheekbone. “Thanks, _ner kar’ta_. For everything.”

And then his face seemed to shift, nose wrinkling slightly and eyes widening, and he turned his head down into the armpit of his outstretched arm. Before he even spoke, Corin knew what he was about to say and had to stifle back a laugh.

“ _Osik_ , I smell awful. Like honestly terrible.” He looked back and forth between Corin and the child. “You and him ought to be given medals for bravery for sleeping in the same bed as me last night.”

The kid seemed to sense that something funny was happening and gurgled excitedly. Din laughed outright at that and rubbed his knuckles over the little one’s fuzzy head.

“Well,” Corin said around a chuckle of his own, “It’s been at least seven cycles now since you’ve had a proper shower. I’ll help you take one when I get back from dropping off the womp rat.”

“Corin,” Din’s eyebrows arched, “I can shower. I had the flu, not a stroke.”

“You may feel okay right now, but you are going to get tired very quickly for the next several weeks.”

“I’ll be fine, really. Drop him off for his lessons, get yourself some hot food since between the two of us you’re the only one who can currently eat solids, and I will be done and back in bed before you’re even back.”

Corin arched an eyebrow of his own, but said nothing. He set the tea and nutrient shake on the bedside table for Din, kissed him softly on the cheek, and then headed out.

When Corin came back about a half hour later, he found Din sitting on their bed, towel wrapped loosely around his waist with one knee sticking out. He looked a sight, dripping wet and beautiful, but also completely and utterly defeated by exhaustion. From the looks of it, he hadn’t had the energy left to towel off. Water from his mop of brown hair was trickling into his eyes and he seemed too tired to even wipe it away. His head was bowed slightly, but he looked up wanly as Corin clicked the door shut.

“Showering should not be this exhausting,” he muttered.

“I would say I told you so, but…”

Din cracked a half-hearted smile. “I have literally orchestrated heists less draining than that was,” he lamented, glancing at the ‘fresher door. “I feel like shit. But at least I don’t smell like it anymore.”

Corin crossed the room and sat next to him on the bed. He nuzzled into Din’s damp neck and inhaled. He smelled great. Like himself. All traces of sweat and medicine washed away, replaced by the clean smell of his soap. Pine and some sort of warm spice that Corin could never quite place. After a couple of breaths, he lifted his head, kissing the corner of Din’s frowning mouth.

“Let’s get you dried off and back in bed,” he announced, standing up to grab another towel from the ‘fresher. “Just wait there.”

Din closed his eyes and grunted a half-hearted, “Mmhmm.”

When Corin returned, he dropped a small towel on top of Din’s head and tousled it in his hair. “There we go,” he said, stepping back to look at his handiwork. Din’s hair was standing comically in all directions, and if not for the furrowed creases of defeat on his _riduur_ ’s brow, Corin probably would have laughed. Instead, he finger-combed the hair down and then softly kissed the crown of Din’s head. He knew Din must feel diminished, frustrated by his current inability to do even the simplest of tasks without feeling completely ragged afterward. Everything Corin had read on Findris indicated that this type of post-viral fatigue was common aftereffect of the infection. The induced coma would help to shorten the duration of this effect, but it would take time nonetheless. Din was going to have to accept some new, if temporary, limitations—something he was not liable to do gracefully.

Once Din had been toweled off the rest of way, mostly by Corin but too proud to completely give in to his ministrations, Corin crawled into the bed behind Din and pulled him down onto the soft mattress to face him. He brought the blankets up over their shoulders, tucking them in so that Din, who’d grudgingly accepted how drained he was and had forwent the effort of getting dressed, wouldn’t be cold. He kissed Din’s temple and rubbed his hand down his arm a few times before settling it on the nape of Din’s neck to scratch idly into his soft, damp hair. Din relaxed easily, melting into Corin and sighing. Resting.

After a time, though, Din seemed to tense, the muscles of his back suddenly rigid under Corin’s encircling arm and his body arching oddly away from him. Corin shifted, the leg he’d entwined between Din’s moving as he started to sit up to check on his _riduur_ , and his thigh brushed against a familiar hardness. _Oh_.

Din let out a little moan, sounding half-embarrassed and half-aroused by the brief contact, and when Corin looked down at him he was blushing, a bright red flush creeping from his chest up to his neck and onto his cheeks. He darted his eyes away and mumbled into the pillow.

“Sorry, this is weird, I know it’s weird. I’m so tired and I feel like shit but—”

“Hey, hey, _cyare_ ,” Corin cut off Din's apology. “It’s okay, bodies are weird. And you’re exhausted so yours is just kind of haywire right now.”

He ran a soothing hand down Din’s shoulder and flank, but this just seemed to overwhelm him more. Din screwed his eyes shut for a brief moment and then buried his face further into the pillow.

“Do you think—Do you think you could—uh—” Din tugged Corin’s hand down just a hair from where it had come to rest on his hip. Not far, not anywhere near his cock, but the request in that gesture was unmistakable.

Now that, Corin paused at. 

“Din,” he said as gently as he could, “You were just in an induced coma for several days because your body was so wrecked from a virus that it needed help recovering. And I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone throw up so much and for so long as you did. You need to rest. You know I want you, I always want you, but now is not the time.”

Din was quiet for a moment.

Then he spoke, his voice small, still a bit hoarse, and barely above a whisper. “Please. Please, Corin. You’re so close and I’ve missed you and—” Corin opened his mouth to interject, but Din ploughed on, “—and I’ve felt so bad and I just want to feel good. Just for a bit. With you. If you, I mean—that is if you want to, too.”

Corin’s heart twisted in his chest, stricken.

“Of course I want to, _ner kar’ta_ , but what if this hurts you? What if _I_ hurt you?”

“You won’t. You would never. I promise.”

Corin sighed. Din was weak and recovering, but he was also warm and real and alive in his arms, and Corin would be lying if said he wasn’t affected, his own cock thickening at the thought of touching Din and watching pleasure transform him.

So, against his better judgement, Corin kissed him, tentative and soft, and then helped him turn in the circle of his arms, nestling him in back against chest, kissing his neck with a warm open mouth and trailing his fingers across Din’s skin, touching him almost reverently. He brushed fingertips across one sensitive nipple and then the other, dragging teeth along the tendons of Din’s neck to anchor him as the touch made him buck and moan. Corin pressed his hand lower, tracing the familiar curve of Din’s ass, then around the jutting bone of his hip and down, down to where he could replace pain with pleasure, even just for a little bit. 

* * *

Din’s skin tingled, airy with pleasure, but his mind was more grounded than it had been in days. Each touch and caress eased away a little more of the darkness that still lingered at the edges of his soul, chasing away the last shadowy specters left behind from his fever dreams. Life had taken much from him and the vulnerability of illness had doubled as a reckoning with the grief he’d spent a lifetime trying to insulate himself from. Be stronger, be faster, be a fighter, protect what is left with dogged tenacity. Let no one else he loved be lost. This had been the way for as long as he could remember. 

But losing control, being helpless for a time, had reminded him that he no longer had to bear that responsibility alone. Corin wasn’t lost. He was by his side in all things, ready to protect Din and the kid with the same ferocity with which Din guarded them. And it had reminded him that, sometimes, fierceness could be as simple as the gentle, healing touches of loving hands. 

Hands that currently skated across his bare flesh, featherlight but purposeful, replacing his pain and fatigue and shame at his feebleness with the warmth of shared pleasure. Din groaned, tipping his head back to rest against Corin’s shoulder, body melting back fully against his sturdiness. Corin hummed, his lips ghosting across Din’s jaw and his hand moving lower.

“So beautiful, _cyare_ ,” Corin murmured, “So good for me. Just like that. Just relax. I’ve got you.” 

Din keened a little at that, hips thrusting weakly forward and then pressing back into the hardness behind him. Corin seemed to understand now how much he needed this, needed to escape the frustration of his weakened body and feel good, and didn't make him wait. His fingers trailed across Din’s hip and then wrapped around his cock with a firm but gentle pressure, setting a slow, steady rhythm. Din gave himself to the rolling, comfortable cadence of it. 

And it was good, so, so good, was exactly what he’d asked for, but it wasn’t nearly enough. Corin was curved securely around him, so near that Din could feel the thump of Corin’s heart echoing in his skin. But he needed him closer, needed him everywhere. Needed to feel him deep inside and forget where each of them began and ended. 

It took a stupid amount of effort at first, but Din managed to speak, to make his stuttering request for more. 

Corin hesitated, his hand stilling on Din’s cock. “Din, I don’t know. I don’t want to hurt you. You’re still recovering and that’s a lot more intense than this.”

Din shuffled, pulling away from the warm heat of Corin’s hand to turn carefully in the circle of his arms. He took his _riduur_ ’s hands and brought them to his face, kissing each palm. 

‘I told you, _ner kar’ta_ ,” he whispered, voice rough, “You can’t hurt me. You won’t. You’ve done nothing but help me. These—” He gave Corin’s hands a little shake, “—These are what kept me sane when my entire world was burning a few days ago. I need these on me and I need—I need you in me. _Cuun baar tome_. Please.” 

Corin’s pupils blew wide at that, black edging out the blue as his hesitance evaporated. “Stars, Din,” he moaned, “Yes, okay. Yes. Just—just wait. Wait here.” Corin hooked a leg up over Din and then levered up and over him, exiting the bed with an undignified tumble. 

Din laughed. “ _Dank farrik_ , _cyare_ , I don’t have to tell you twice.”

“Shut up, Din,” Corin retorted with fond exasperation, “Or I’ll change my mind and put you back to actual bed rest. Which is what you ought to be doing anyw—”

“Do you hear that?” Din asked.

Corin, who was digging through the organized pile of Din’s armor to find the small tin of multipurpose salve Din kept in the utility belt, paused and looked up. His face was caught between genuine alarm and annoyed suspicion that this was just his _riduur_ being an idiot. Din savoured how normal it felt to banter like this, how it seemed to keep the crushing weakness he felt at bay a bit. 

“Hear what?” 

“Oh, nothing. I just thought for sure I heard the clucking of an Endorian mother hen…” 

Corin rolled his eyes and tossed the salve unceremoniously on the bed next to Din. Then he straddled him, playful, but also clearly mindful that as much as Din’s tongue was sharp, his body was still mending. 

“It's a good thing you’re medically fragile right now, _cyare_ ,” he said, shaking his head fondly. 

Din laughed again, tipping his head back as a buzz of good feeling pushed back some of his bone-deep weariness. “Threatening the invalid now, I see. Ballsy move, Corin.” 

Corin let out an exasperated puff of air, his smile lopsided and warm. Then his face settled into tenderness and he leaned back a bit, gaze lingering on Din’s face. “I really missed you, you know.” 

Din smiled. “I know, _cyare_.” 

“I know that’s dumb, you were right here and I was with you, I just missed this and—” 

“I know. I know, Corin.” Din brushed his thumb across Corin’s lower lip, a rush of gratitude for his husband’s steadfast care flooding him yet again. “But I’m back. It’s going to take more than a flu to shake me off.” 

Corin leaned forward, pressed his forehead to Din’s, and just breathed in and out in time with him for a moment. Din’s hands settled high on Corin’s sides, seeking the rhythm of his breath under his palms. When Corin’s lips sought his, Din brought one hand up to rest behind Corin’s head to push that warm mouth into his just a little closer. He needed this. Needed this closeness. Needed the familiar, hypnotic softness of shared breath and wet heat. 

The kiss was lazy, unhurried, Corin’s tongue flickering out lightly to sooth and taste, his teeth catching Din’s lower lip in an achingly gentle bite. As the kiss ended, Corin tipped his head forward to briefly touch his brow to Din’s once more, then kissed Din’s face, closed lipped and sweet, on his temples, his cheeks, the flutter of his eyelashes, and then in a burning line down Din’s jaw, neck and shoulder. 

Corin inhaled deeply, pulling back to look at Din, checking if he was still okay, before, gracefully this time, swinging a leg over him and rolling off to the side to pull Din up against him, back to front again. He fussed a bit as he arranged them, ensuring Din’s head was pillowed comfortably on his arm, asking if Din still wanted this, making it obvious that he had no expectation of a specific answer either way. As much as Din might tease, he loved when Corin was like this. Loved Corin’s kind, cautious nature, his desire to cherish and protect and comfort those he held dear. 

Din closed his eyes, focusing on Corin’s soft touches to his chest, his stomach, his hip; re-memorizing the searing whisper of Corin’s calloused hands against skin. This time, when Corin grasped Din’s cock, it was with warm, slick fingers that carried the promise of more, and Din felt like he might die, wondered irrationally for a second if maybe Corin was right, that he was too weak for this right now, that this mix of exhaustion and pleasure was some kind of volatile thing that might explode inside him or poison him with its sweetness. 

Overcome, he started to buck out hard into the perfect circle of Corin’s hand, his skin buzzing with a mix of incandescent pleasure and ominous, thrumming exhaustion. He groaned, partly in frustration and partly in relief, as Corin hooked a leg over both of his, stilling him, the smooth fabric of his pants cool against Din’s naked skin. 

“Easy, easy,” Corin hummed in his ear, “You’re supposed to be letting me lead here so that you don’t overexert yourself. You need to stay relaxed and let me do the work or I’ll stop.”

It was an affable threat, a loving one, but stars above if the command in Corin’s voice didn’t make Din feel like he was going to come right then, before he’d even gotten what he’d worked so hard to ask for. He forced himself to go limp in Corin’s arms, relinquishing control fully and breathing out a hoarse, “Okay.” 

“Promise?” 

“Yes, yes, I promise.” 

Satisfied, Corin hummed, lips ghosting the shell of Din’s ear. He stroked Din, deliberate and slow, a few more times and then withdrew his hand and eased his other arm out from under Din’s neck to prop himself up on an elbow. With nimble fingers, he pushed on Din’s hip, angling him forward and brushing his open palm down the side of Din’s thigh and then up the back, grazing up onto his ass with a light, kneading grip. 

“You’re so good for me,” Corin murmured, his mouth lowered to the curve of Din’s shoulder. “So good. Just let go, _cyare_.” 

Corin drew back for a moment and then returned, slick fingers pressing against Din’s entrance and then pausing in an unspoken ask, confirming that this was still what Din wanted, needed.

Din moaned, feeling both utterly broken and completely whole. “ _Gedet'ye_ , yes, _k’hiib’ni_ , please, yes.” 

Corin inhaled sharply behind him and then pressed in a first tentative finger, building a steady rhythm before adding a second and starting to scissor Din open. The slow burn and drag of being stretched blotted out everything else, and once more Din felt like he might die, might just flake back into the ash of his fever dreams or wink suddenly out of existence like a distant dying star, the sweet gentle pleasure-pain of it casting out all of his fatigue for a time. 

By the time Corin withdrew his fingers, shimmied out of his pants, and bumped his cock up against him, Din was a sweating, shaking mess. He had to reassure Corin once more that, yes, he really was okay when his thigh trembled uncontrollably as Corin levered his leg up to open him further and bottom out. 

They paused like that, in a sharp, crystallized moment of togetherness, and then Corin started to move, setting a languid pace that finally, blessedly, calmed the spitting sparks of Din’s arousal into a slow, pulsing current.

Din didn’t last long. Couldn’t. Corin had him angled so that each thrust hit exactly on the spot inside him that sent broad, bone-deep thrums of pleasure through him, his hand working Din’s cock in time with each rolling thrust, and Din had no energy left to hold himself back from the edge. 

He came on a hoarse groan, his vision white-hot behind slammed-shut eyelids, his cock pulsing in Corin’s grip and Corin’s gasping hiss at his own climax reverberating in his ears. 

They stayed like that, still connected, for a long moment, Din’s pleasure receding out and replacing itself with a tide of exhaustion. But exhaustion of a different sort, of his own terms, his own making. 

Then Corin shifted behind him, slipping out and pulling Din wordlessly over onto his other side, cradling Din’s head against his chest and kissing his hair as Din let sleep claim him. 

He woke hours later to Corin cleaning him up with a warm, damp cloth. He was still exhausted, but he felt better, like a strange, encircling pressure had snapped and eased away. He dressed groggily in the sleep clothes Corin brought him, accepting his help gratefully. He was weak, but mending, his strength stored safely inside his _riduur_ until he was ready to shoulder it again himself. _Kaysh kot o’r ni, bal ner o’r kaysh,_ he thought. _Kar’tase tome._

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TRANSLATION NOTES - PART FOUR**  
>  I try my best to get any snippets of Mando’a right by cobbling together a few different translation tools, but no guarantees! Do let me know if you see something glaring!
> 
>  _Buir_  
>  Parent/father 
> 
> _Jate vaar'tuur, cyare._  
>  Good morning, beloved. 
> 
> _Cuun baar tome._  
>  Our bodies together/connected.
> 
>  _Gedet'ye_  
>  Please 
> 
> _K’hiib’ni_  
>  Take me 
> 
> _Kaysh kot o’r ni, bal ner o’r kaysh. Kar’tase tome._  
>  His strength in me and mine in him. Hearts together.
> 
> **Thanks again, so very much, for reading!** ♥♥


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